Everything's Fine
by drarrysexual
Summary: Everyone thinks Harry is crazy when he stands in firm defense of Draco Malfoy after the war. But what they all seem to be missing is how alike the two broken men actually are.
1. Strike the Match

Harry Potter had never had control of anything before in his life. He hadn't had any control over how he was raised, for example, or over the fact that Voldemort had killed his parents. He couldn't control the fact that Voldemort had killed his mother first thus securing Harry's life - thus saving him so he was there to not control anything for years to come. He couldn't control that the only safe place for him to go once orphaned was to the Dursleys and he certainly couldn't control the fact that they hated magic and treated him like shit for it. He couldn't control the fact that he was a wizard or that on his eleventh birthday he'd be whisked into an unknown world that would change his life around. He couldn't control the fact that he was rich and famous despite never knowing why and that now everyone wanted to talk to him, to know him, to publish false stories about him in the newspaper. He couldn't control the fact that he had a scar that used to hurt whenever Voldemort was present or that Voldemort had even wanted to hunt him down at all. He couldn't control that a prophecy had been forced to include him. He couldn't control that he had been a Horcrux or that he was supposed to die the night he defeated Voldemort or that he was probably going to marry Ginny Weasley because that's what the wizarding world wanted him to do even though he was pretty much certain of the fact that he was gay - which was just another thing that he couldn't control.

No, Harry Potter had never had control of anything before in his life. Which was probably the reason why he had taken in Draco Malfoy when the opportunity presented itself.

Everyone was shocked, needless to say, when Harry had stepped forward to testify on Malfoy's behalf to keep him out of Azkaban. Everyone, that is, except for Narcissa Malfoy who had sat through Harry's testimony with thankful tears in her eyes, praying to nobody in particular to thank them for the boy who would save her son from incarceration. For the boy who was repaying his debt with the life of her son. Testifying on Draco's behalf was another thing Harry had done that was beyond his control. He owed him. He did. Because technically, without ever knowing it, Draco had saved his life by doing nothing more than simply surviving the war. It was only fair that Harry return the favor, especially since he knew why Malfoy had joined the Death Eaters and it had absolutely nothing to do with free will. Harry knew a little something about not having control over the major events in your life; he wasn't going to sit back and have someone else suffer through a pain he knew all too well. It was a moral obligation if anything.

What he did afterward, though, was a choice he made all his own. He was the one to escort Draco back to Malfoy Manor, something he insisted upon doing since Pansy Parkinson was still being held until her trial was over and Draco didn't have many others on his side who weren't already imprisoned or in hiding. The pair never actually got onto the grounds of the house, though. They stood outside the gate for a long time, just staring. Staring and not daring to go forward. It just didn't feel right to Harry to be back there and if the sudden paling (something Harry didn't know could happen to someone who already looked so fragile) of Draco's skin said anything at all, it didn't feel right to the Malfoy heir either. It was Draco's house now, sure, but he didn't want it, and Harry would be content if he never had to step foot on the premises again. Too many memories for the both of them. So without even a second glance, Harry grabbed Draco's arm and they Disapparated.

He later asked Draco if he wanted to stay with Harry until he was able to build his life up again. For reasons Harry would never fully understand, he said that he did.

It took a lot of convincing for the Ministry to allow Draco to move in with Harry at Grimmauld Place. There was a lot of arguing and even more paperwork involved than either of the young wizards had anticipated. A lot of compromises were made and not all of them made either one of the boys too happy. For example, Ministry officials would have to put certain privacy-invading spells on the house so that they could monitor when Draco entered and left, any time he used magic and what spell he used, and even if Draco was bringing any friends into the house. Draco wasn't allowed to Apparate unless he was with Harry (this one took the longest for Draco to accept; "A Malfoy does not solely travel via side-along Apparition," he had insisted and it was only the threat of tossing him back into the haunted mansion that was now Malfoy Manor that got him to shut up and take it). Draco and Harry were also never to be left alone together - Kreacher and Dobby (the latter had insisted on serving Harry without pay and had settled for at least minimum wages when Harry refused to take him in as another servant) were to be with them at all times unless Harry deliberately ordered them not to be. And even then, they were to monitor the room with their magic in case things got violent or out of hand.

If he was being completely honest with those assigned to their case, Harry would say that he thought that all of the precautions were silly. Draco's wand didn't even work for him properly anymore (something he swore to never forgive Harry for) and any violent tendencies the man seemed to have possessed in the past were now gone. He barely had the strength or the will to look anyone in the eye these days, let alone try to kill the one man who had saved him from a lifetime in prison. No, Draco Malfoy was still a lot of things - cold, arrogant, sarcastic, distant, reserved. But he also wasn't, and had never been, stupid. He knew that Harry had saved him and he knew that Harry knew it. Whether either one of them liked it or not, they were indebted to each other. And that wasn't exactly a thought that made either one of them want to resort to violence. Besides, Grimmauld Place was a large house and Harry was only extending his invitation to live there until the Ministry released all of the Malfoy fortune to Draco, something he was also working on getting done (they were currently using bullshit excuses such as, "We don't know what he may buy with that gold," to keep Draco on a strict monthly 'allowance' and the fact that Harry was not only the only one working in Malfoy's defense but also working with untrustworthy goblins who hated him for stealing and releasing their dragon probably wasn't helping matters any). It would be easy, simple really, to avoid Draco in the large house. In fact, if Harry were to close his eyes and pretend the last few weeks didn't happen, he could probably forget that Malfoy was there at all.

But that wasn't what the Ministry wanted to hear. The Ministry just wanted the pair of them to sign a bunch of documents, nod their heads, say "yeah sure, uh huh, whatever you say," a couple of times and then get the Hell out of their business. No one liked helping former Death Eaters. Especially not the ones who the Ministry had worked so hard to imprison for so long. The sooner they got Harry and Draco out of their hair, the happier they would all be and the sooner the rest of them could get back to their lives. And Harry was no one to slow down that process, even if it meant keeping his mouth shut tight whenever anyone asked him if he knew what he was doing.

Because he did. He knew exactly what he was doing. He was making a choice. A choice that was strictly his own and a choice that no one would be able to talk him out of.

The only thing he could hope as he helped Malfoy unpack the few things he had decided to take from the Manor - including his wardrobe, his broom, a few pictures, and a couple of family heirlooms - was that he was making the right one.

* * *

><p>Draco Malfoy was the very definition of controlled. Everything about him was orderly and pristine - always. His hair was always perfectly in line; his clothes were always perfectly pressed, his shoes shined to perfection. His work was always done slowly and neatly, and it was always extremely organized and structured. His daily routine was habit by now, right down to the time he woke up in the morning to the time he went to bed at night. His biological clock was more in time with his daily plans than any other, his things were always put neatly on shelves or in drawers, and he never, ever lost anything. Ever. Even his bloodline was controlled and carefully constructed with the most pure blood of any other last name he'd ever heard of. He even knew what Hogwarts house he was going to be in before he ever reached the school - Slytherin, like the generations of Malfoys before him. It was almost preordained. His name was Draco Malfoy. He was a pureblood. He was a Slytherin. And no one in the world would ever dare to think that his life was anything but perfectly in order, exactly the way he wanted it to be. Because if anyone sensed any anxiety, any vulnerability, any mistake at all...they would pounce. Then all Hell would break loose. And Malfoys were not fond of Hell breaking loose when they didn't want it to.<p>

The problem with being Draco Malfoy, though, was despite the fact that everything in his life was supposed to be perfect, planned, and unchangeable, it was not he who was controlling it. He did not get to dictate what he wore, how he looked, when he woke up, what house he wanted to be in. He didn't get to choose his own favorite Quidditch team or food or time of the year or shirt or sexuality or wife. He was not the one who determined what job he would have in the future. He was not the one who decided that he would take the Dark Mark. He was not the one who decided he would be an extraordinary student who would meet the Dark Lord's demands. He was not the one who decided to pick the side of Dark magic. He was not the one who decided when he would be allowed to show weakness. He was not the one who decided when he would begin to think that all Hell had finally broken loose. He was not even, in the end, the one who decided if he would go to jail or not. It was never his decision to make. He never got a say in anything.

Maybe that was why he had accepted Potter's invitation to stay at Grimmauld Place. Because it wasn't something that Lucius or Narcissa or Snape or Voldemort could decide for him. They weren't there anymore. His parents were imprisoned, and Snape and Voldemort were...well, they were dead. There was no longer anyone there to give him guidance, to tell him if he should go back to the Manor even though being inside of it made him physically ill and sent his heart racing in fear or if he should accept Harry's invitation and start living with the enemy who, as it turned out, wasn't much of an enemy to him at all. It was Harry, he constantly reminded himself now, who kept him out of Azkaban. He owed him some kindness for that alone. And with no one else to turn to and no one there to tell him to do much else, he had clung to the first sign of control that he could find. And that was the control and order that Harry was offering him. A home. A legal team. A second chance at life.

So he had said yes. Hadn't even hesitated. Potter, of course, looked a bit surprised at the fact that Draco had responded so quickly, but the expression had quickly faded and he had immediately made arrangements to move Draco's things in and get Ministry protection so that the pair of them would be safe in the backlash that was sure to happen after the war. Unable to come up with a better plan for himself after years of submission, Draco had simply gone along with whatever Harry wanted. Harry was in control now. He was the one that Draco was falling behind.

He hated it.

He wasn't sure when he had sunk this far. He didn't know the exact date when fighting back with Harry and teasing him and harassing him had become nothing more than bothersome, just that it had happened sometime during their sixth year. He didn't know when he had lost the will to smirk whenever Harry entered the room or to call Granger (who made up the better part of their legal team now) a Mudblood or even to start thinking of Weasley as anything other than a blood traitor. He wasn't sure when exactly he had lost the spark that had made him who he was, when he had lost the independent streak that kept him proud, cocky, and arrogant for all of those years at Hogwarts. He just knew that at one point in time, he would have laughed at Harry's offer of a house. And at one point in time, he would have made a comment about how Harry was just trying to find an excuse to be near him. Or that he wouldn't want to stay in the pig sty Harry called home if it was the last place on Earth. Now, though - now he was happy that someone was willing to take the reins in his life once again because he sure as Hell didn't know how to steer himself anymore. Now he was just happy to still be alive. Now the only reason people thought he was controlled was because he was reserved. If he didn't say anything, nobody could doubt him.

So he remained silent.

If this bothered Harry at all, though, he didn't say anything. He let Draco stay quiet; he let him brood and unpack his things in peace. He gave him a tour of the house when he first arrived then dumped Draco in his room. And then, just like that, he was gone, and Draco was left to wonder when exactly things had turned around the way that they did. He tried to remember the time when he and Harry went from rivals to two pieces of a giant puzzle that had been broken beyond recognition - broken until they strongly resembled one another but looked nothing like how they once were. Because Harry had changed, too. People could deny it all they wanted but with the amount of time Draco spent with him during his legal battles, he'd seen it the way he'd seen the change in himself. He was different. Harry's smile never quite reached his eyes, now, and he rarely spoke to anyone unless spoken to first. He spent most of his time staring at walls as though they held the secrets of the universe in them; Draco would bet more than anything that he wasn't thinking of anything, either.

He knew. He understood. He did the same thing. Sometimes one just needed to escape the world.

He thought about leaving as he began to move himself into the spare room Harry had given to him. He thought about just leaving the city, the country, the wizarding world as he knew it. He thought about leaving it all behind and trying to recreate himself in a different world, a different time where nobody would know who he was. But he found a strange comfort in occupying the empty spaces on the shelves in his room. He found something beautiful in the idea of living in a place where he was free to do as he pleased. He found solace in finally having someone around who willingly put themselves in his presence. Besides, he understood Harry. And he had a feeling that Harry understood him, too.

He kept trying to put a date on when they had become two broken pieces of the same messy whole. It was only after he'd finally been settled at Grimmauld Place that he realized that he would never find the date he was looking for. Because this hadn't happened overnight. People didn't lose their humanity in a matter of hours. It was something that had grabbed a hold of them both during the war and it was now working its way through their systems until they were able to take control of themselves and cast it aside.

The only problem was that Draco had no idea how to handle himself anymore. Everything he'd done in the past was carefully constructed by someone else. He was a person of someone else's design. He couldn't cast anything aside until someone taught him to. And even then he was positive that he'd never be exactly the same again.

His only glimmer of hope was that he had finally made a decision that didn't seem as though it could possibly result in his death. And he had made the decision all his own.

Maybe he and Potter were both broken. But it gave them more in common than he had with anyone else.

And so he stayed.


	2. Hardly Even Speak

**Author's Note:** Before I continue this and before I get negative feedback that isn't from my sister (she's crazy about continuity) I have taken certain liberties in writing fanfiction. For example, I have kept Dobby and Hedwig alive. Why? Because I don't feel that their deaths are necessary to write what I have in mind and in my mind, Dobby is there and Harry is nothing without Hedwig. They understand him. So it's mainly compliant with all of the books but when little things like that pop up, just remember that it either holds a significance or is so insignificant to the plot that I just decided to stick it back in there. I apologize if this upsets you. Anyway, enjoy. xo.

* * *

><p>"He's a quiet one now, isn't he?" Ron commented the first day that he and Hermione came to visit. He gestured with a nod toward the sitting room, where Malfoy was curled up on the couch with a book in hand, his nose buried so deep inside of it that whether or not he was actually reading was suspect. He had been like that for days now, often dozing off in the middle of the night when the need to sleep overcame his desire to finish yet another book. When that happened, Harry would drop by with a blanket to cover him up and when he woke, Harry would drop by to pick it up again. They never said a word to one another.<p>

"I suppose he is," Harry replied quietly, taking a bite of the toast Dobby had made him for breakfast. "Though I guess it's better than what he was before."

"You mean an annoying little prat?"

"Something like that."

The two boys exchanged smiles before Harry gave his housemate another glance over. To be honest, he hadn't even noticed the silence that had fallen on Grimmauld Place since he had finally claimed it as his home. He spent a lot of his days locked up in Sirius's old bedroom, polishing his broom or finishing up paperwork that he hadn't wanted to do at his new office at the Ministry. Dobby and Kreacher did most of the cleaning around the house, and Harry honestly trusted Draco to be alone in the house to do whatever he wanted. It gave Harry more time to be alone, to think about what he was going to do in life after the war. After all, Aurors didn't want him working too much because they feared "putting him in danger" (_Oh _now _you worry about that,_ Harry had thought bitterly though like most times now, he had remained silent during their excuses) and he didn't exactly have Hogwarts or anything to look forward to now. Hermione suggested going back for an "eighth year" but honestly? What could Hogwarts teach him that he didn't already know? He could read about spells in one of the many books that Draco had brought with him to Grimmauld Place, and everything else - well, everything else was stuff that had become second nature to him by that point. No, Hogwarts didn't hold anything for him anymore but just further distraction from what needed to be addressed: life post-Voldemort.

"Does he ever talk anymore, Harry?" Hermione looked somewhat concerned as she followed her friend's gaze. Whether anyone liked it or not, Hermione and Draco had formed some sort of quiet bond during their time fighting legal battles together, and Harry didn't blame her for being worried. If Harry wasn't feeling as quiet inside as Draco acted on the outside, he'd probably be concerned, too.

"He talks to Kreacher, if it counts for anything."

"Kreacher? Really?" Ron raised his eyebrows. "Leave it to those two to bond. Sodding gits, the both of them..."

"Ronald! Don't be so insensitive." Hermione leaned forward over the table. "Though are either one of you really surprised?" Curious, Harry leaned forward and Ron soon followed suit. "Honestly, you two...I mean, it's obvious isn't it? Draco is technically the last remaining Black. Well, other than Teddy, but I highly doubt that Kreacher counts him." Harry cringed at the mention of his godson, but decided not to let his mind go down that route. He didn't want to think about the parenting duties he'd eventually have to undertake once Andromeda got too sick to care for her grandson. "Kreacher must be really pleased to have him in the house. It probably makes him feel secure, like he still has a bit of Narcissa with him in the house. It's no wonder he'd form a bond with him."

"I'm just happy that Malfoy at least talks to someone," Harry said turning back to his food. "When he unpacked all his shit the first day here, I thought he'd gone mute. I was threatening to take him to St. Mungo's to see if anything was wrong when Kreacher walked in and started talking up a storm with him."

"Hmm, it is a bit strange, the personality change he went through," Hermione said thoughtfully, taking a sip of her tea. "But I suppose that war was enough to change even the worst of us." Harry didn't reply, but Ron made a noise of affirmation. A sad smile on her face, Hermione reached over to place her hand over one of Harry's. "What about you, though? Have you anyone to talk to around here?"

"I'm usually working, actually." How could he lie to them?

"Do you need Ron and me to hang around more often?"

Her concern was sweet but slightly irritating. Harry rather enjoyed being left to his own devices; he hadn't had that kind of solitude since he was eleven. He had almost forgotten the comfort one could receive from being alone in the dark. "That's not necessary, 'Mione. I get enough social contact at work."

Hermione opened her mouth to retort, probably with an argumentative edge, but Ron stopped her with one look. She pulled back her hand. "Whatever you say, Harry. But if you need us..."

"You're only one Floo call away. I know."

He gave them a smile, but none of them really believed in it.

Ron and Hermione left not long after that - Hermione had a trial that she desperately needed to get to and ever since a Death Eater on trial had tried hexing the prosecuting law team, Ron had been adamantly refusing to let her go anywhere on her own. When they were gone, Harry finally allowed himself to relax, the fake smile he'd been holding up since they'd arrived finally fading into the blank expression that he normally held anymore. It was too much of an effort to even _smile_ nowadays.

He made another cup of tea to distract him from that disturbing thought. He had tried to stick with only positive thinking since settling his life back down - to think of a better tomorrow and all of that. But it was hard when the only thing he had facing him now was a boring desk job and never any excitement. After what felt like a lifetime of nothing but adventure, everything else was just...dull. Blank. Empty. It felt an awful lot like missing an old friend and having no idea where to contact them even if he wanted to. Like a part of his very soul was missing.

"Draco." He nudged his foot against his housemate's to break him out of his solitude in the least rude way possible. The blond looked up, eyebrows raised. "I made you some tea."

"Just put it on the table."

"Okay."

He set the cup down next to him and then pulled back, ready to head back up to his study. With Hermione's words in mind, though (_Have you anyone to talk to around here?_) he paused and looked back at Draco.

"When was the last time you slept?"

He could sense the blond's annoyance at being interrupted again, but at least he didn't snap. He just looked calmly up at Harry. "A book or two ago."

"Do you even know what day it is?"

"I know it's _day_ if that counts for anything." Harry didn't reply. "Are you done now or should I just postpone any hopes of finishing this book?"

"What are you reading?" He walked back toward the couch, taking a seat on the opposite end as Draco sighed and dog-eared the page he was on. Harry's mouth twitched with the beginnings of a smile but his expression remained blank.

"A Muggle novel. _Pride and Prejudice_. Pans and I bought it in Muggle London one year, after escaping our parents." He ran fingers lightly over the cover of the book, as if it were something valuable. Harry wrinkled his nose.

"My cousin threw that book at me once."

Draco smirked. "Did he now?"

"Yes. He said he didn't want to read it for his literature class and decided that it would make a better projectile weapon. Let me tell you; nothing hurts worse than an accidental paper cut to the face."

A few years ago, Harry had no doubt that Draco would have fallen to the ground laughing at the fact that Harry had received a paper cut from a book being thrown at him. Now, though, he didn't even smile, though he did admittedly look amused. "You don't say."

"I do." Silence. That had never happened between them before. It was always insults, constant insults or arguments. But never silence. Harry decided that he didn't like it. "Hey, are you okay?"

Draco seemed to visibly bristle at his words. "What's it to you, Potter?"

"I was just wondering."

"Well don't."

And then he was turning back to his book, the tale of romance between Mr. Darcy and Lady Elizabeth now seeming far more entertaining than the man sitting beside him. Unsure of what he did wrong, Harry debated apologizing and trying again. But he figured it would just do him more harm than good and eventually just abandoned his post on the couch and headed up to his study like he originally planned. He wasn't sure why he even tried talking to Draco at all; probably just Hermione's words getting to him.

If he had looked back at all, he would have seen Draco glance once at the spot he had just vacated before turning back to his book. But as it were, he didn't.

* * *

><p>"He's probably just lonely, Harry," Hermione said in her usual matter-of-fact tone, dumping a stack of papers onto her friend's desk. "I mean, Pansy's incarceration came as a surprise to us all; we were all expecting her to go free seeing as she never actually...<em>did<em> anything." She flipped through a few more files in front of her before adding, "He's probably just upset. That's why he refuses to talk to you. He just...needs a friend."

"No, the only thing he _needs_ apparently is an endless supply of books," Harry responded, trying not to sound bitter. He flipped through a few pages of the work Hermione had just given him and tried not to wrinkle his nose in distaste. "I'm telling you, I tried talking to him and the moment I got beyond asking what he was reading, he got all...cold and shut me out. I'm starting to think he's just...lost his will to live or something."

He started at the sudden _crash_ that followed his words and looked up to see Hermione blushing furiously over her broken mug. "Oh Harry, that's horrible," she said, picking up the glass pieces. "Absolutely horrid. Don't even...Harry, we can't even think that."

He raised his eyebrows. "And why not?"

"Because...well _because_, Harry!" She quickly repaired her mug before looking back up with a surprising amount of emotion in her eyes. "Most Death Eaters after being caught are often forced to be put on a suicide watch. They'd rather die than continue living, whether it's because they don't want people to know their secrets or...or they just can't live with what they've done. It's a horrible, horrible solution to their rather large problems, and they do get creative about it...But Harry can you imagine what pain they must be in to even consider that? It's horrid."

_Not really,_ he found himself thinking. _Losing the will to live isn't all about pain. More like the lack thereof. It'd probably be easier to live if they could feel pain_. But he didn't say that. He didn't want to worry her anymore than he already had.

"Harry, if you suspect that Malfoy is even the slightest bit suicidal, you have to do something right away."

"Yeah?" he said, eyes scanning a newspaper article about recent attacks on Muggle families. "And what do you propose I do exactly, seeing as he won't accept my company? Console him from another room?"

"If that's what it takes, yes!" She placed her hand over the article he was distracting himself with and met his gaze with a fierce desperation. "Harry, Draco is legally your responsibility now. You're the one who kept him out of Azkaban and _you're_ the one who offered to take him in. If anything happens to him, it's on you. You can't just sit there and let him sit in misery until he finally decides he's had enough and...a-and..."

"Okay, fine!" Harry said, rolling his chair back to get away from her accusing stare. "Fine, I'll make sure he's bloody...stable or whatever it is you want me to do."

"I'm just asking you to be a friend to him, Harry. I'm afraid he doesn't have many left, and at a time like this...everybody needs someone. Even Draco Malfoy." Somehow, Harry doubted that Draco would agree with that statement, but he promised to try and talk to him again when he got home if only just to get Hermione off his back for the rest of the day. Then he turned back to his paperwork, lips pursed, barely registering the words even as he read them.

Sometimes, he really hated how right Hermione was.


	3. You're Impossible

Harry's first attempt at friendship went a little like this:

"Hey Malfoy."

"Potter."

"What are you reading?"

"A book."

"What book?"

"_Which_ book."

"Pardon?"

"_Which_ book is the more proper phrase."

And then Draco had slammed his bedroom door in his face.

His second attempt hadn't gone much better. He was preparing Draco's dinner plate (it was something they switched off on; sometimes Draco would bring Harry his dinner and sometimes Harry would take Draco's up. It all depended on who was downstairs when Kreacher finished cooking) when the perfect idea hit him. "Kreacher," he said, looking fondly down at his house elf. "Go grab Draco and tell him it's time for dinner."

The elf, who had long since figured out that it was pointless to ignore Harry when he had that thoughtful look on his face, disappeared with a rather loud _crack_. Thirty seconds later, he returned with a note.

_Potter,  
>Send Kreacher back up with my dinner. I'm reading.<br>- Draco._

Frustrated and not wanting to upset him by demanding he come down, Harry had done exactly as he said. He had eaten dinner that night the same that he always did - alone.

The third time, he really thought that he was making progress. He walked into the kitchen after returning home from the Ministry one day to see Draco making himself a cup of tea, no book in sight. Thinking of it as the perfect opportunity, he took a seat at the table - per usual, Dobby appeared not long afterward with a tray of finger sandwiches. "Thank you," he said quietly. "But if you don't mind, will you please leave the room?" Draco looked up, and Dobby just gave a tight nod.

"Yes sir, Harry Potter, sir. Whatever you'd like."

Then they were left alone - sort of. They both knew that Kreacher and Dobby were probably outside of the kitchen door listening intently and monitoring the room like the Ministry had ordered them to. But physically, they were the only two people in the room and it took Harry a second to realize that that had never happened before.

"Sit down," he said to the blond, trying his hardest to sound kind. "I mean...if you want. I just wanted...uhm-"

"To try and chat me up again?" Draco smirked, but took a seat anyway. "It's a lost cause, Potter. We have nothing to discuss."

"That's not true," Harry replied with a frown, though more thinking would tell him that Draco was right. They didn't have much in common. "When we were making arrangements for...this, you and I talked rather a lot."

"During court proceedings. When I was legally obligated to speak."

"Well what's wrong with speaking when you're not obligated to?"

_You shall not speak until spoken to. You will not speak out of turn. You will not be made a fool by your words._ Draco could still hear his father's words as clear as day, as if he'd said them five minutes ago as opposed to two years. He gripped his cup of tea harder, his knuckles turning white. "Nothing. But you're really one to talk about not speaking. You never say a word either."

_You will not say something until you have thought long and hard about it. Do you understand me, Draco? I will not be embarrassed by your loose tongue again._

"I make an effort, though, don't I?"

_Don't give me that look. The Dark Lord will not tolerate your cheek and neither will I. It's about time you grew up. _

"If you call sending a house elf up to get me an effort."

"Well last time I tried chatting to you upstairs, you shut the door in my face," Harry said, trying not to sound annoyed. "In case you don't remember."

"I remember quite clearly, actually. I was hoping that you'd understand my rejection through such a gesture, but it seems I was mistaken."

"I'm not giving up on you." Harry leaned forward toward his housemate, who raised his eyebrows in response. "Something about you changed during the war. Don't try to deny it. But whatever it is, you can't hide from it forever. You have to talk to someone eventually."

"Duly noted." There was a short but loud screeching sound as Draco pushed his chair away from the table. "Now if you'll excuse me, I believe I have some reading to attend to."

Harry decided to let him go; something in Draco's tone had been definite, and he knew that any further pressing to get conversation out of him would just set him back. He couldn't pretend, though, to ignore the spark in Draco's eye during their short exchange nor could he forget how quickly it had faded when the blond opted to leave the conversation. With that in mind, he knew there was always one way to get Draco to talk to him, one way to pull him back to how he used to be. He just hoped that the day he got courage enough to try it, he wouldn't regret it.

* * *

><p>Harry was beginning to annoy Draco. He was <em>everywhere<em>. Honestly, if Draco had known that moving in with the poor guy had meant that he was going to be sticking his nose where it didn't belong all the bloody time, he wouldn't have taken him up on the offer at all. He figured that Grimmauld Place was going to be quiet, silent even. He figured that Harry had gone through the same scarring things that haunted him in his nightmares. The anguish, the pain, the fright. Didn't everyone feel those things during the war? Weren't they all changed by it? He'd always thought as much. Even Granger seemed different - older, wearier, less excitable. And she hadn't even gone through as much as her friend. So why was it that Harry seemed to snap back into his normal, annoying, nosy prat-ish self in just a matter of weeks?

Maybe it was because the man was on a mission now. Operation: Annoy Draco Malfoy as Much as Possible Until He Beats Me Over the Head With Every Book in the House. The goal of annoying his former nemesis seemed to put the brunette in a better mood and though Draco spent the majority of his time now thinking of ways to further avoid him, he would admit that when he did see Harry he looked a lot...livelier. Like he had something to live for.

Maybe it was because the Weaslette had finally paid them a visit. She had been putting it off for a while due to the fact that she didn't want to see Draco and Draco was no more fond of the idea of seeing her. However, she seemed to have decided that the time for putting off her relationship with Harry was over and made it her business to be in the house for at least several hours a day - hours that Draco spent locked away in his room. It was likely that this was the reason Harry was so happy. True love and sex and all of that business.

Or maybe it was just because he was _Harry Potter_ and that was just the way that Harry Potter worked. He fought, he sulked, he got over it. Three month break period. Repeat. Maybe it was just the natural order of the world.

Well, whatever it was, it made Draco's life even more Hellish than usual and he found himself feeling more annoyed than sulky these days. And to be honest, he wasn't sure which he preferred.

On one hand, being sulky did suck. He felt depressed all the time - not enough to contemplate suicide like a few of his late friends or even to think about death at all, but enough to keep him up at night. Enough to haunt him. He spent most of his depressive periods reading books to escape the real world, training himself in both defensive and offensive magic in case there ever came a time that he needed to defend himself. And he knew there would be; it would be impossible to escape enemies, even under the careful protection of the Chosen One. On a brighter note, though, being sulky gave him an excuse to be alone when he honestly didn't want to see anyone. He could just walk around Grimmauld Place in silence and never have to see another person for as long as he lived. And that was a pleasant thought in itself.

On the other hand, being annoyed was a good sign. It had been a long, long time since he had felt anything but the crippling depression that had been keeping a tight grip on him since he was sixteen years old. He had become a shadow of a person, a mere memory of who he used to be - the Draco Malfoy that teased Harry Potter and pulled on Weasley's dirty pigtails was long gone. The pride he used to have in himself, in his family, and in his cause...it was all gone. He'd given up on it as he watched the pale, lifeless face of Albus Dumbledore as he fell from the Astronomy tower. He hadn't been the same since, and he knew it. So maybe being annoyed was a good thing - maybe it meant he was gaining life again.

Regardless, though, there was one thing he was absolutely certain of - Harry Potter was driving him _crazy_ and if he didn't stop, he was about to find out how much like the old Draco he could be.

He got his chance to tell Harry to shove off not long after deciding he was going to do it. He was brushing his teeth in the morning, having gotten up early to avoid having to eat breakfast with Harry, and then in walked the Boy Who Lived himself as if the fact that the bathroom was occupied didn't even matter.

"What do you think you're doing?" Draco asked shortly, pausing in his routine as Harry reached over him to grab his own toothbrush.

"I'm brushing my teeth, Malfoy," Harry grumbled tiredly, fumbling with the toothpaste cap. "Hygiene and all that rubbish." He successfully removed the cap and then fumbled a bit with the actual tube of toothpaste, managing to get the majority of what he was squeezing out onto his finger instead of the bristles. "Ah, shit."

"I _know_ you're brushing your teeth, Potter, I'm not blind," Draco said, looking away as Harry began to brush his teeth. "I meant, why are you doing it _now? _I'm in here."

"That you are," the brunette commented, though with his toothbrush still in his mouth it came out sounding a lot more like "tha ooh er" and Draco wrinkled his nose in disgust.

"That's bloody disgusting." He didn't understand - Harry had his own bathroom. There were at least three in the house that Draco knew about and one of them was only able to be accessed through Harry's room. So _what_ was he doing invading Draco's usual bathroom? Especially when the blond was certain that he hadn't even eaten yet?

Harry spat into the sink, still standing dangerously close to Draco. Every time the blond stepped away, he'd follow suit, probably trying to gain more access to the sink. "It's my bathroom as much as yours, Malfoy, so if you don't mind, could you stop watching me brush?"

"Says the bloke who just charged in here while I was brushing my own teeth!" Draco countered indignantly. "You may be the bloody _Chosen One_, Potter, but I know there's other bathrooms in this stupid house. Stop trying to _bother_ me and learn to have some sodding manners."

"I'm not trying to bother you, I'm _trying_ to brush my teeth. Now move _over_." He nudged Draco's hip with his own, trying to push him away from the sink and Draco pushed him back with a glare.

"_No_. You _leave_ and use your _own bloody bathroom_ and then you'll have all the room you want."

"But I _want_ to use _this_ sink." Harry tried to push him again and this time actually succeeded.

"Well _I_ was here _first_." Draco shoved back - hard. Harry fell back a couple of steps and glared at his housemate.

"What's your bloody _problem_ Malfoy?"

"What's my-_what's my bloody problem,_ are you fucking _kidding_ with me?" Draco gaped in a most un-Malfoy-like manner, brandishing his toothbrush like a wand. "_You're_ my bloody problem, Potter! I was under the impression that we had come to some unspoken agreement to stay out of each other's hair but all of a sudden _there you are_, every-fucking-where, and apparently I can't even _brush my teeth_ without you wanting to be in the same room with me-"

"I'm just trying to act like a good roommate!" Harry shot back, his face taking on a red tinge like it always did when he was angry. "I was trying to make sure that you're all right, that everything is okay-"

"Well everything's _not_ okay and you bloody well know it," Draco growled. "You sulk around this dump as much as I do and don't even try to deny it. Nothing is bloody okay anymore. And you also happen to know that how I feel and what I'm doing is _none of your damn business_. So either come up with a real excuse or get the fuck out of my bathroom."

"It's _my_ bathroom," Harry retorted through clenched teeth but he had lost this time and the both of them knew it. However, faces red with anger and eyes flashing dangerously, hearts still pounding from the knowledge that there was a competition going on and only one of them could win, the pair of them had never felt more alive. It was like the small confrontation had set them both on fire, and even if Draco still wanted nothing more than to hex Potter into a thousand tiny pieces, he could feel a wave of gratitude for the man wash over him; he even found it in him to think he sort of actually...missed this.

"It's not just _yours_ anymore, Potter," he said through clenched teeth. "It's _ours_. And you need to start respecting my privacy or I _will_ hex you. I don't care how many years in Azkaban it gets me."

They paused, glaring daggers at one another for a few moments. Then Harry seemed to deflate as he let out a deep, dramatic sigh and placed his toothbrush on the sink. "You're right." Draco raised a suspicious eyebrow. He was _what now_? "I'm being selfish. I was the one who invited you to live here, and I need to start respecting your boundaries."

"That you do," Draco said slowly, staring at him curiously. He had a feeling that he was missing something, like Potter was just waiting for him to let his guard down before he could attack.

"It's just, I don't really _feel_ like you live here, y'know?" Harry went on. "I mean, we don't even eat together. You just lock yourself in your bloody room and..." He paused. "Well how am I supposed to treat you like this is _ours_ if you keep trying to reinforce the fact that you and I have to be separate all the time?"

"You mean to tell me that you often burst into bathrooms while guests are using them?" Draco challenged with a raised eyebrow. Honestly, it seemed it should be the other way around. He should only walk into private areas with people he was _familiar_ with, not strangers. Realizing this, Harry flushed.

"Well, no. But I mean...the other stuff. Like the kitchen - I walk in, you walk out. The sitting room is the same way. Even when I step into the hall, you take the opportunity to walk into another room." Draco pursed his lips. Okay, so he'd been avoiding Potter - but was that really such a surprise? "It's just, I'd _like_ for us to start...trying to get along. As far as we know, you're going to be living here for a while and...you're right, I do know that nothing's okay anymore. But I also know that you can't just sit around and sulk on your own. Everybody needs somebody."

"And you're taking pity on me because I don't," Draco said, and Harry cringed as though it was an insult more than a statement.

"I'm _extending a hand_," he corrected, "because so far you've refused to take anyone else's."

Draco paused. All right, so he was just trying to be civil. Fair enough. It was honestly probably for the best that the pair of them got along, as the more people thought Harry liked Draco, the safer he would probably be. But was he honestly expecting Draco to just accept his friendship? To just go ahead and say that he'd let Potter be there when years and years ago, Harry was the one to refuse a friendship with _him_? He hadn't forgotten the stinging rejection of finding out he wasn't good enough for the Boy Who Lived to want to befriend, hadn't forgotten how his life had gotten steadily worse from there as Harry went on to slowly and inadvertently ruin every aspect of his life. They were rivals, nemeses, enemies even - and though Harry had helped him in legal battles to repay some weird, sick debt to his mother, they had never really been there for one another. Civil? Yes. In the same room as one another for more than ten minutes without grating one another's nerves? No.

"Let me get this straight," Draco said, leaning onto one hip as he spoke. "You want us to start acting like...friends or something because we have to live with each other now...and in order to tell me this, you had to corner me...in the bathroom?"

Harry smiled sheepishly. "I've actually been trying to catch you for the past week or so," he said, avoiding Draco's gaze. "But you, uhm...you wouldn't give me a chance." He paused for a second before adding, "Besides, Kreacher and Dobby aren't allowed in the bathrooms when one of us is using them. They're sort of a...private place." He kicked at the floor. "It's nice to talk without being supervised."

"They're right outside the door," Draco said, just dying to ruin Harry's good mood and the brunette glanced at the closed bathroom door.

"Well, without being watched then."

Draco bit down on his lip and glanced down at his toothbrush. "So. That's it, then?"

"What's what?" Harry looked up.

"We're just going to try and be civil and then you'll get off my back?"

Harry frowned. "That's not exactly what I had in mind but-"

Draco sighed. Of course not. "Right, right, sorry. I'll just let you do your little I'm-the-Chosen-One routine and be done with it. I'll...play nice or whatever it is you want, Potter." He paused. "On one condition."

"Name it," Harry said automatically.

Draco opened the bathroom door and pointed out into the hallway with his toothbrush. "Get the Hell out of my bathroom and let me brush my teeth." Harry's face immediately broke into a grin and Draco was almost taken aback. He'd known Harry for years - seven long years - and never once had he smiled at him in a friendly way. It was a little unnerving, and he tore his eyes away from Harry's own green ones as he began to feel the corners of his own mouth turn up. Damn Potter.

"All right, all right," Harry laughed, holding up his hands as though surrendering. "I'll let you take care of your personal hygiene."

"One of us has got to."

Harry winked. "Of course." He began to make his way out the door but paused half-way through. "I'm going to expect you to join me for breakfast, you know. Friends do that sort of thing."

"I never said we were friends, Potter." It was meant as a dismissal but Harry didn't move. "I'll be down after I finish with this, okay? Blimey..."

Harry laughed and patted Draco's back. "You're learning, Malfoy. You're learning."

Then he walked off, and Draco turned back to the sink feeling slightly shaken as he tried to reassure himself that he hated Harry Potter. He hated him and his stupid face and his stupid personality and he was by no means charming in any way, shape or form, not even when he grinned a real grin and winked. And most of all, above everything else, he told himself that they most certainly were _not_ friends.


End file.
